


White Rum

by Labeteenmoi



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 15:38:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14264214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Labeteenmoi/pseuds/Labeteenmoi
Summary: Struggling with her demons, Ariane may find some confort in drinking but not only, not since she found a job at the Solomons' Bakery.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there.
> 
> Here is a little AU fanfiction or side story about my beloved character Alfie. It's not located in any particular moment of the series.  
> It's a 4 part story and the first one I post on this site.
> 
> For information, I'm french and English is not my mother tongue so I apologize in advance if there is any formulation that is incorrect. I love writing in English but I'm eager to learn from my mistakes though so don't hesitate.
> 
> Hope you enjoy your reading and all comments are very welcome.

What a strange place for an interview, she said to herself as she crossed the thick wooden door guarded on both sides by two men in long black coats with a kippah on the top of their heads. Everything in this story was strange from the beginning.

The ad in the newspaper had surprising requirements for a simple secretary job. She would not have bothered to move that far from Gloucester if she thought she did not fit, and also if she had a choice.

A strong smell of alcohol assaulted her nostrils immediately, which was very surprising, she was thinking of applying to a bakery. She was beginning to regret her coming.

"This way." said the young man who preceded her, pointing to the barrel-lined path that seemed to lead to another room.

Without flinching she followed him. As she walked through the halls slamming her heels on the dusty floor, the light was a little weaker and, if there was no daylight that lit up her way a bit by the tiny windows at the bottom of the shed, she would probably have seen nothing.

Men bustled around barrels and beyond, around large vats, eying her generous figure in passing without addressing him any nod.

His guide finally stopped in front of a door that no direct light was reaching. He waited a few seconds for her to reach him and knocked carefully.

A sonorous and rocky "yeah" allowed him to open the door before passing his head through the crack.

"Your appointment Alfie, Miss ..."

"Sit her there, will you, Ollie?" His voice sighed, as if the person was exasperated by so many words.

With a nod to her, Ollie led the candidate into an office that was almost as dimly lit as the previous rooms, but the smell of rum was less strong and spicier.

Behind the desk sat a bearded man with broad shoulders and brown hair, wearing a wide ecru shirt hanging from his wrists adorned with bracelets, large hands, equally decorated with jewels, who wrote slowly on a piece of paper on which his face was leaning, he did not look up as she sat down.

At a glance around her, she noticed the windows that the dust made almost opaque around the room on the side, and through it recognized Ollie watching them, leaning against a wall.

When she looked at her host again, he was staring at her indecipherably, between the lamps that adorned his desk. An ounce of surprise crossed her face, but she held the man's gaze behind the glasses on the tip of his nose, neither of them bothering to smile.

"Can I help you?" He finally asked after a time that seemed endless, without letting go of her eyes.

Raising her eyebrows, she began to seriously wonder what she was doing there.

"It's up to me to ask you this, sir; I received this letter of convocation." She replied in a firm voice, with a noticeable foreign accent, by placing an envelope on the desk in front of her. The man watched her movement without blinking and then looked back at her.

"It's for the job?!" he exclaimed in an acute voice, "it must be a mistake ... I'm looking for a secretary, you see?" he added, narrowing his eyes.

She could not see, he realized to her face that mimicked his own puzzled expression. He suddenly took off his glasses, which fell on the sides of his half-open shirt, and dropped back, into his seat.

"You see the desk behind you, yeah?" he asked, pointing at it, "this is where my secretary will work. You see the light of day here?" he asked, raising his hands to the sky.

These questions were quite serious to believe his face but the lack of consistency in his speech began to lose and annoy her.

"Excuse me, what's your point?" she asked with a sigh.

"Fuck ... she does not know. You do not know? Beautiful plants like you fade into a place like that, honey." He said with a sorry look, shaking his head.

Retaining her annoyance was almost a self-transcendence at this stage; she did not know how she managed to, probably restrained by the intimidating attitude of his interlocutor who had crossed his hands on his stomach, a smile on the corner of his lips.

"Listen, Mr Solomons, if the place is always free, as it seems, can you let me have this interview? At least I will not have come for nothing, you see?" she said with a cheeky air that made his smile grow wider.

"Am I wasting your time, Mrs. ...?"

"Miss Marchand." She snapped her accent easily recognizable by a man who had been to France. "Indeed, it would be more polite of you to come to the point."

"Oh ... You find me rude!" he exclaimed, opening wide eyes. "Rude, yeah? You could be more polite yourself, Miss Marchand. A smile to the man who could hire you in his successful bakery would not be too much to ask, would it?" he added, raising his voice.

His last words and the roar of his voice still rang in the room like a drum that goes away, suddenly making silent his guest, embarrassed by the reversal of the situation that had just occurred before her eyes.

Appreciating the effect, with an almost theatrical gesture Alfie Solomons slowly put his glasses on his nose, without taking his eyes off her, and leaned back on the paper on his desk. Picking up his pen, he scribbled something and then stopped.

"Your name, darling?" he asked calmly without looking up.

"Ariane." She said after a few seconds of hesitation, still frozen in disbelief.

The man wrote again and then handed her a thin bundle of documents which she seized without knowing why, before reading the first lines.

"You hire me?" she enquired, astonished.

"Not until you read all the clauses and sign knowingly, Miss Marchand, nothing in it is negotiable." He said with a serious look.

"May I ask you why?" She said slowly, uncertain that it was a good thing to do.

"Why you should not take this contract lightly?" His eyes widened again and he crossed his arms over his chest, carrying a hand to his beard that he rubbed gently, giving him a serious look of a teacher who is about to explain a difficult problem.

"Actually..." she started.

"Briefly, how did you land in this country?" he cut without even looking sorry.

With a resigned look, she answered after a few seconds, "I followed the wrong man, I guess."

"Yeah, well, here's the opportunity to learn from your mistakes."

"By...following the good man?" she asked, with an inch of irony in her voice.

"Fuck no! But the rules, yeah, they're good, they're the ones you'll follow, sweetheart." He stretched out his arms in front of him, laying his hands on his desk in a slam on the wood.

"Who made them?" What looked like a vague cynical smile stretched her lips as she clasped her hands on her lap.

At her expression, Alfie Solomons imitated her but his smile was much more pronounced behind his beard, giving his face a playful look. "Yeah ... I should have added one more it seems. Ollie!" He called, standing up, not letting her opportunity to raise a question.

It took her a few seconds to remember that the man he was calling had been watching through the windows behind her. Seconds during which she realized that she should quickly learn to read between the lines with a man like him. Seconds while she was observing the movements of this troubling man, opening a drawer and picking up something inside. Under the almost good-natured attitude he showed, she could not help feeling some kind of danger, and that confused her.

"Show the _Mademoiselle_ her quarters, will you?" He said, handing a set of keys to the young man who had just entered the room, "and you, read carefully and sign, _Mademoiselle Marchand_." He added, pointing to the contract in front of her.

She stared at him with her big green eyes, trying in vain to understand if he was serious, then wondered what he meant by _her quarters_ , but immediately gave up the idea of asking him, Ollie might be clearer about that. Grabbing the documents, she got up and walked to the door without a word.

"It seemed to me that French people had better manners, yeah ... everything is off the table ..." he harangued before she walked through the door, stopping her in her tracks.

"It will be done, Mr. Solomons, thank you for your time." She replied without a smile to his attention before continuing on her way, trying to sound impassive. He stared at her again with big eyes, as when she had entered, without showing better manners than hers. Alfie Solomons was definitely a mystery to her at that time, he and everything around him.

Ariane was still wondering what she was doing there, hoping only to find a place where she would be allowed to have a drink or two. This smell of rum had tickled her enough. She needed to take stock of what had happened, but strangely, she did not regret her coming after all.

 

 


	2. part 2

 

After a considerable amount of time spent looking at her from head to toe, no doubt gauging her outfit; usually a dark blouse and skirt that softened her generous forms, Alfie Solomons emitted a hoarse "hmm", which she interpreted as a hello, failing to understand its true nature.

He then scrutinized her smooth face with cherry-colored full-lips, which contrasted with the pallor of her complexion, framed by chestnut hair whose rebellious curls often fell on her large, clear green eyes, perhaps waiting for an answer from her.

So she often said, "What do you want me to do, Mr. Solomons?"

"Well, smile?" he answered most often with a questioning pout under his beard. But in front of her impassive face with a cold look, he ended up giving her a real task in a resigned sigh, which she executed without discussion.

Here's how usually began her working days at the "bakery", installed at the desk which was almost facing the imposing and unfathomable man Alfie was, whose glances in her direction were never stealthy nor succinct. He was certainly not embarrassed to stare at her; he was not a man to embarrass himself with good manners, or to hide what he did not like. But as far as she was concerned, he sometimes made vague allusions to the content of her activities the night before, usually too metaphorical for Ariane to grasp the real meaning.

Allusions made about a bad habit, which she had taken a few years earlier, of not being able to get to sleep without getting drunk. Gin was her favorite poison, and the bars of Camden Town would soon see their sales increase the night her demons would assail her brain more cruelly than usual.

The first night, after Allie accompanied her to _her quarters_ ; the house where she would live on Lyme Street, more comfortable than she could ever afford, she had not deigned to take off her coat and settle down that she had already visited the first pub she had crossed.

The contract that Alfie Solomons had given her under her arm, she had read and read again. But as the number of glasses increased, her confused brain read only "You are now the property of Alfie Solomons" to each paragraph a little paranoid she read, where no question should be asked if she had any of suspicion as to the activity of the company. No information relating to the company should be communicated to anyone, whether staff member or not, unless otherwise advised by Mr. Solomons. In short, nothing happened without his approval.

It was with the strange feeling of selling her soul to the devil that she had given the signed contract to Alfie the next day. He had ostensibly sniffed it right under her eyes. It smelled of gin and cigarette, as his men had told him. Under the cover of banal activities, like having a drink after work, they watched the comings and goings of certain people in particular.

Ariane did not notice them at first, these men with long black coats sitting at the bar or tables behind her. She never saw the reproachful nods that they addressed to any man who tried to approach her, making them understand that she was off the menu. Women were rare in such places, except prostitutes. But no one had ever mistaken her for one of them, she thought.

She would have liked company some nights, not an ear to listen, just hands to make her feel the life that still inhabited her body. But who would have liked to share his warmth with a sad soul? That was what she said to herself. And in the mornings, when she could not remember how she had gone home, she could not remember being escorted near or far by these men in black.

Alfie knew all that. Alfie knew everything that was happening on his territory. Even what tormented Ariane, who did not show anything and pretended not to understand his attempts to make her speak.

More and more intrigued by this woman, Alfie began showing signs of impatience and getting more and more insistent to get into her head over the weeks. It did not escape her and she began to fear that this intimidating man would one day impose on her a face to face to discuss the elephant in the room.

One day, Alfie Solomons received a visit, a business meeting like a few others she had already attended. The man did not seem to pay any attention to Alfie, turning constantly, more interested in Ariane's tights whose legs protruded under her desk.

Her heart began to accelerate as Solomons furiously glared at his visitor and then at her.

"Miss Marchand!" He growled suddenly, interrupting the distracted rant of the man sitting in front of his desk, "Surely you have better things to do, don't you?"

Her heart missed a beat. After it resumed his run, she could finally say "You ... want me to leave?" with a look full of incomprehension.

"Well, do that, yeah." he answered sternly, clutching his large fists on his desk.

The confusion soon gave way to bitterness and anger in her eyes as she wondered what she had done to deserve to be humiliated in this way.

With fixed eyes under his frowning brows, Solomons watched her as she took her things in tense silence and left the office without a word. She gave him only one last look, heavy with reproaches, before deliberately slamming the door behind her.

That night, she had drowned her anger in gin again. But her resentment seemed stronger than the degrees; she was angry at not getting drunk properly and left the pub furiously, glaring at the men in black who stared at her. Never did anyone speak to her and solitude began to add to her misery.

That evening, with her face down, ruminating against Solomons aloud on the way, she did not notice that once she had arrived at her door, he was there.

Solomons was waiting for her in his long black cloak, leaning with both hands on his cane, his eyes barely visible under his hat.

Ariane stepped forward cautiously, unsure of being able to trust what her eyes were showing in the twilight of the evening, until she stood under his face that was scanning her, so close that she could hear him breathing and smell that spicy scent of his.

Realizing he was there, only alcohol allowed her to keep a certain composition. She lowered her face before looking at him again. She thought she saw disappointment in his eyes.

"I'm an embarrassment to you, am I not, Mr. Solomons?" She asked with eyes unfocused.

"I saw worse, yeah ... One day, I saw a man shitting himself, literally, out of fear. Well, one does not use this kind of image lightly after that, right? Or that other soldier digging in the trench mud with his fucking bare hands. He wanted to bury himself there, and die" he said in his usual slow flow, without taking his eyes off hers, in which, for the first time, he saw an ounce of sadness pass.

"Talk to me, Ariane," he murmured, trampling on the spot.

"Why are you telling me that... you think you can understand, because you were there?" She began screaming in his face. "Have you lost a lot?" She quipped, pretending to look sad.

"Yeah, I left some pieces on the way ..." he said, glancing at his cane. "Everyone has lost something, Ariane, that's war ..."

"Bullshit ... You are back! One day it was over ... And you got home Alfie, you! It was still there, lucky boy! I ... I lost my home ... everyone, my...joy ... I left my soul there ..." the words became like balls in her tight throat. Ariane had not dropped her gaze but she did not really see him anymore behind the wet veil that covered her pupils.

Unfazed, Alfie took a few steps back and opened the door with keys out of his pocket. Turning in her direction, he nodded at her to go inside.

" _Et merde_..." she swore in French in a heavy sigh, wiping her eyes awkwardly, before complying with an unsteady step.

As he followed her and closed the door behind him, she slumped on the couch with a frowning expression without letting go of her bag, her coat still on her back. Her blouse, pulled down by her unsuitable position, foreshadowed the birth of her cleavage on which Alfie lingered a few moments. It was certainly hard not to imagine the roundness of the curves that hid under the fabric, even in a moment like this.

Resuming his concentration, Alfie looked at her, dumbfounded by the gap between the cold, taciturn young woman who spent her days with him, and the one, direct and sad, that he had in front of him.

She lit a cigarette and blew smoke in front of her, through the locks of hair that fell on her face, in a sonorous sigh. Alfie lit the gas lamp that sat on the table. It was still full; Ariane was visibly fond of the darkness.

A cloud of smoke hovered in front of her, soon disturbed by the advance of Solomons in the room.

She pushed her curls away with her fingertips and looked at him from head to toe. How to trust what she felt at that moment? She dreaded him, and yet his presence, imposing and silent, reassured her. If it were not for gin and anger, she would never have spoken to this man that way.

"I'm perfect for you, you know, I mean ... for your job. I'm so lonely that you did not even need to sign me for your damn contract! NO ONE speaks to me in this damn town! Damn, not a person!" She enraged suddenly. "I feel like ... a nun, you know ... Vow of silence, vow of ... Chastity ..." she went on, full of irony. Looking up at him with a hard look, she added: "I'm for nothing, you know, he was looking at me ... men look at me sometimes, or... used too... It wasn't my fault ..."

Alfie shook his head slightly, chasing from his mind the image of Ariane begging for his touch. To remain impassive in front of this woman was eminently difficult at that moment, her fragility awakening in him the same protective instinct that when this man had dared to ogle her like that. "If that bastard didn't have so much money to make me win, I'd have him swallow his fucking teeth, yeah." he let out, jaw clenched.

"What? ... Why?" She asked in a sharp voice after a few seconds, not sure she understood.

He stared at her suddenly; his eyes wide, his expression stern, unable to silence what made him boil but could not decently admit his jealousy. "You do not covet what's mine, no, no one does this to me, let alone under my own eyes." he said, harshly in a deep voice.

At these words, various emotions invaded her. Her good sense definitely diminished by the drink, Ariane did not know what prevailed, the outrage done to her person as a human being belonging to no one, or the strange arousing in her belly to the thought that he considered her his, and was ready to fight to defend it.

The idea that Alfie Solomons could be attracted to her suddenly turned her whole perception of the man, the way he looked at her, the smile he was constantly asking for. Her laborious reflection made her mute and her gaze drifted into the room without being able to land. Her head began to spin suddenly.

Alfie approached slowly and grabbed the smoking butt between her fingers to crush it in the ashtray, already full on the floor. He lowered himself to grab her firmly by the shoulders, slowly tilting her to the side, forcing her to lie on the couch.

"Gin is bad, it's not what you need, sweetheart, it digs deep inside you, and only goes back to the sadness and regret that lies there." he whispered, uncomfortably squatting at her side. "I'll bring you something better, right?" He offered. But she could not hear him anymore, her body and head numb, swept into a dreamless sleep.

 


	3. part 3

 

"What the fuck are you asking, mate?"

It was late and Alfie Solomons had other plans for the evening than to rediscuss the terms of an arrangement already concluded, especially since the man who stood in front of him had not been nice to him the first time.

"I think you're mistaking me for someone else, mate, right? I provide bread, bets and protection, not fucking cunts, yeah? Now, if you don't find a place for your cock on your own, what, on this fucking planet, can make you think I can, or want to, do anything about it, tell me!" Alfie was trying to stay calm, but an ounce of aggression was beginning to appear in his voice, and his fists clenched on his desk.

He was about to point an accusing finger at his visitor's face when the door of his office opened suddenly to let appear Ariane, a furious glance on her face, soon joined by two men who seized her by the arms before she could approach Solomons.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" she shouted for them, trying to get away.

Alfie Solomons got up from his chair "Hey, HEY! What the hell is this, lads?!" he said, raising his voice with authority.

The men released Ariane's arms on the spot. She played angrily with her elbows to get away before heading for Solomons, to plant just under his face, without even noticing that he was not alone.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she hissed between her teeth. With the falsely frightened expression of Solomons, Ariane enraged a little more. "You had me followed! Your men did not let me into all the local pubs!" she yelled, her eyes dark.

Since she had woken up with a memorable hangover two days earlier, she still had no specific recollection of the course of the evening. Only the impression that Alfie Solomons had played a role had not left her. It seemed to her to have smelled his scent at home, scents of musky cologne with spicy notes floating in the air of her living room. But in front of the usual attitude of her boss, she ended up doubting herself and never approached the question, deciding nevertheless to stop her excesses for a while.

This earned her two nights of broken sleep, painful and restless. Two days when the lack began to be felt even in her writhing stomach, her trembling hands and her veins, which seemed to be constantly frozen. That night, she had decided to yield to her vice, but Solomons had apparently decided otherwise, which put her out of her mind.

"Hey, Hi!" interrupted a voice behind her. "I can take you for a drink if you want, darling."

Ariane turned to recognize the man who had railed her a few days earlier in the same office, provoking Alfie's ire. He was standing in front of his chair, an unhealthy grin on his lips.

"All right mate, you fuck off now." Alfie interrupted him hard, pointing at him, jaw clenched.

"Alfie, come on, it's just a drink ..." the man tried as he stepped towards Ariane, who was only showing incomprehension on her face, wondering what was going on.

Solomons stared at him a few seconds before resting his eyes on Ariane, she was so close that she seemed to want to snuggle against him.

The next moment, he drew a pistol that he pointed at the man's face, which stopped immediately, unable to say where he had taken it from. Ariane recoiled at the sight of the weapon, her blood began to pulsate harder in her temples and a cold shiver ran down her spine.

"I said fuck off, or I'll put a bullet into each of your vicious little eyes." Said Solomons, whose gaze left no room for doubt as to his intentions. "Pissed ladies are bad luck for business… the deal is off." He added hoarsely. With a brief movement of the cannon, Alfie motioned the man out. He complied, his expression alternating between rancor and fear.

Ariane did not realize she had held her breath until the man left the room.

"All right now ... everybody out." Alfie sighed, resting his weapon in the drawer from which he had quietly extracted it.

The men who had come to catch up with Ariane recoiled without a word and closed the office door on the way out. Ariane did not notice the nod that Alfie addressed to Ollie, who was standing on the other side of the window panes around the room, as he slipped away from his observation post.

Dazed, Ariane jumped when Solomons slammed the drawer shut by closing it.

"Bad fucking timing, in'it?" he began to growl, leaning over Ariane like a wave ready to overwhelm her.

Confused, Ariane turned her back on him and hurried away to her desk. At this late hour, the only source of light was on Alfie's desk, emitted by one of these lamps that projected an orange glow, all the rest of the room was practically plunged into darkness, where she took refuge. Alfie watched her, fuming.

"You don't get to enter this place and ask ME what the fuck I'm doing, right?" he said slowly, cold anger piercing every word.

"What was that?" she asked, turning suddenly, no doubt reassured by the gloom and having gathered enough courage to withstand the piercing gaze of Solomons. "What did he want?"

Alfie's face turned into a puzzled look. He tried in vain to decipher the expression on Ariane's face. "Are you tryin' to change the subject or have you just lost your mind over your lack of gin, darling? What was it written there already, in that paper you signed…Mmm yeah: NO FUCKING QUESTIONS ABOUT BUSINESS!" he shouted, punctuating his sentence with a punch on his desk.

Ariane should have been terrified, but she did not know why, she could not help but speak, as if her thoughts materialized in words without her consent.

"Was it about me, the deal?" she continued brazenly, unable to know exactly where the idea or the temerity came from.

Alfie opened his mouth but no sound came out, as dazed, before recovering. "Holy shit, woman ..." he sighed, shaking his head openly.

Alfie Solomons began to walk slowly towards her, looking down at the floor, arms crossed over his chest, a hand slowly rubbing his beard.

"That shitty asshole comes in here and asks… no, no… requests a little extra" he said, arriving near her, "You", he whispered close to her ear. A shiver ran up her back. This proximity should have been extremely embarrassing, but it was not and it troubled her.

"And there, you come, blasting down like some kind of hellish fury, just when I was politely refusing for him to see you…now, you think I should have thought about his demand?" he continued, tilting his head to the side, a questioning pout on his face.

Ariane bit her lip, lowering her eyes in front of him, wondering what had taken her to do such a scene.

"No one covets what's mine ..." he murmured.

At these words, Ariane had an impression of déjà vu and her perplexed eyes suddenly planted in those of Alfie.

He knew the thoughts that were milling in her head at that moment; he smiled as if to prove it to her, his eyes full of mischief.

For a few seconds suspended, they looked at each other without saying a word, Alfie's shoulders almost wrapping her from their full width, his scent gradually giving shape to the vague memories in her mind.

The darkness around them created an unexpected intimacy. His intense gaze and commanding presence, so close to her, did grow a feeling of warmth and tingling in her belly, those she had not experienced for a long time.

Someone knocked on the door and the time resumed suddenly.

"Yeah?" he said, turning to his desk as if nothing had happened. Ollie came in. "Ollie, lad, please take Miss Marchand home. I foresee there's something waiting for her there…" he finished, sitting on his chair without looking up at her.

The thought that it would be Alfie waiting for her fleetingly crossed her mind before she realized what a nonsense it was.

Unable to get out of her mind, Ariane walked mechanically to her home, absently.

On entering, she advanced to the table in her living room. Right there, on the edge of the table, near the empty ashtray, was a bottle filled with a translucent liquid. The label, clear and elegant, indicated "Solomon's Finest White Rum".

 

 


	4. part 4 - final

 

Alfie Solomons paced in his office, cursing and grumbling against himself. He was not a man to be carried away by his emotions; he was a businessman first and foremost. Friendship had no place in business, love even less, and above all, it was never personal.

"Fucking hell ... What's got into you, mate?" He fought against himself, turning like a lion in a cage, his fists clenched.

It was so unlike him. That was not the way he was turning his business around, not threatening potential partners, not so much that he did not have more to gain by doing so. But he would have killed that one; he would have done it because Alfie Solomons never pointed a gun at anyone if he did not really intend to use it.

He had made it personal. Afterwards, when everyone had left the place and the adrenaline had dissipated in his brain, that's what he realized, that's what he did.

He was not protecting her, no imminent risk of death in any case. He had acted on an impulse, he had not reflected on seeing her incredulous eyes like an animal trapped by the sight of a hunter.

His blood had gone a single way in imagining Ariane in the arms of this man, he would have only benefited from those moments when she would be at the bottom of the hole, drunk, vulnerable and sad. He would not have respected her injuries.

And this idea was unbearable to him. He realized that during all these weeks that he had tried to enter her head, it was actually him who could not drive her out of his thoughts.

"All right ... That's enough ... Yeah ... That's enough now ..." he grumbled as he left the bakery, without a coat or hat, the sleeves of his unbleached shirt rolled up on his forearms and a decided step.

"That's enough ..." he grumbled again as he pushed open Ariane's door. Sitting at the table in the dining-room, her figure stood out against the yellow light emitted by the lamp in front of her, Ariane hastily rose to her feet when she heard the door.

Her blouse was out of the belt of her skirt and her tights had spun, hooked by some irregularity of the floor under her bare feet. She looked at him with surprise and relief; she had hoped he would come.

But Alfie did not notice, all focused and determined that he was advancing in the room without even crossing her eyes.

"What happened over there, um ... Yeah, it was fucking stupid, okay, really ..." he said, extending a hand toward the outside. "We cannot do that, it's business, all right ..." he chained as he walked towards her when he finally looked at her and stopped.

He had the impression that he had not been the only one to think hard in his corner. He was expecting a bit of having to pick her up after the glasses of rum she had to swallow. Only the bottle of white rum he had brought to her was still enthroned on the table, full, intact. And Ariane stood perfectly in spite of her neglected dress.

"... you ... you do not like rum?" He asked with an expression of sincere surprise on his face. "You should have told me; yeah ... I would have ..."

Ariane suddenly crossed the last step that separated them and, raising her face, interrupted him by putting her lips on his, just for a few seconds.

"I felt something, earlier ..." she said in a breath, her face receding slightly to plant her eyes in Alfie's. He had not dared to make the least movement, as if any sudden gesture could make her fly away, and looked at her with disbelief.

"Really ..." he mumbled, not knowing what to say.

"It was better than gin ... or rum ..." she continued.

"Mmm ..." Alfie said in a tone that he hoped would encourage her to continue.

"And I feel it again; there ... I think it's you ... that makes me feel that." She finished whispering.

He saw them now, her yes imploring him to touch her, this look was much more attractive than he had imagined.

"Um ... I'm afraid you need to be clearer, honey ..." he continued, his shoulders still arched above Ariane, the positions of their bodies marrying at a distance.

"Do you really want to make me talk now?" she interrupted.

Alfie took a deep breath, as if he was about to talk, before lowering his face and kissing her. Gently, he started by just brushing her lips, enjoying the softness of her thin skin, his beard caressing her cheeks. Then, grabbing her by the arms, he pulled her slowly towards him, reinforcing their kiss. Their lips parted and their breaths soon mixed.

Ariane ran her hands over the powerful forearms of Solomons, following their movements as he tightened his grip, moving his hands up to her neck and then to her face, covering her jaw line with his wide palms, parting her lips with his tongue to clear a way into her mouth.

Certainly, no liquor had ever done that to her. She almost forgot to breathe as her skin was shivering. She no longer felt the cold, buried in the arms of Alfie who always squeezed a little harder, his hands in her hair, then down on her neck, massaging her back to finally squeeze her waist.

She moaned, then he too, but something deeper and low. He held her so tight against him that he nearly lost his balance, slowly pulling her back until her buttocks hit the table, dangerously swinging the bottle of white rum behind her.

The sound of the tinting glass suddenly interrupted them.

"Damn, darling... Don't you tell me you've been having something? There won't be no fucking excuses to forget what's going on this time..." he growled.

A slight grin appeared on Ariane's face. Neither a cynical nor a sad one, it was the closest thing to a smile Alfie had ever seen her do. It enlightened his face.

"I can assure you... I've never been this sober... And this excited at the same time" she murmured in a breath, seizing one by one the buttons of his shirt and gently opening it, revealing his chest before covering its skin with kisses along the base of his neck, stroking the tense muscles of his stomach with her hands.

Alfie moaned deeply again, before kissing her, more ardently than before. The chills soon gave way to the heat on her skin that Alfie had decided to touch with his hands too.

He eagerly undid the buttons on her blouse and pulled it down her arms. He pressed her chest with his hands but the fabric of her light underwear was soon too much too. He groaned as he pulled it away, barely taking time to breathe as he kissed her.

Alfie grabbed the fabric of her skirt and slid it on her tights up, then lifted her off the ground, running his hands under her buttocks. He carried her to the dark bed room as she wrapped her arms around his neck and inserted her fingers into his brown hair, out of breath.

In the darkness, she could feel his hands and mouth running through her skin and bringing back, with all the strength and tenderness this man was capable of, life and warmth in every corner of her body.

Ariane had found something new in this man to forget her pain. It turned out that it was not gin or rum, but something that always brought her mind back to the surface, made it lighter and more cheerful, and it was even more intoxicating.

The morning came, tickling her eyelids with its pale rays, which shuddered before she realized it was Alfie touching her. He was scanning with his fingers the irregular shape of the scar which formed an arc of a circle on the top of her back.

"All right! That's one hell of a souvenir right there, darling! "He whistled in genuine admiration. "Must have been a bloody deadly shit that caught you there…."

"Yeah... The worst" she whispered, trying to chase away the thoughts of her house crumbling down after the explosion of the shell, the one that sliced her flesh and changed her life forever.

Alfie kissed the scar, and then did it again, and again, until he made her giggle under the tickle of his beard brushing against her skin. It was the purest sound he had ever heard.

She turned to find him leaning on the mattress, head resting on his hand, just behind her.

"Good morning, Miss Marchand. Would you do something for me right now? "He asked happily.

"And... What would that be, Mr. Solomons ? " She answered in the same tone.

"Well... Smile? "

And so she did.

"Holy shit..." he sighed."There's no way you ever get away from me now, young lady... You are doomed to be mine for the rest of your miserable life, right! "


End file.
